this is not my beautiful house

Why does everyone stick their tongue out in pictures or get all kissey-faced and poultry?

Why does everyone stick their tongue out in pictures or get all kissey-faced and poultry?

That was supposed to be pouty but I’m with autocorrect on this one. Just say cheese for fuck sakes

And speaking of, not the cheese part but the fuck sakes part and the poultry part, did you ever see The Accidental Tourist?

William Hurt’s sister cooks a turkey at 160 degrees for like eight hours and when he peers into the warmish oven, he says in his monotone way, “Is this the Thanksgiving we all die?”

So I went out Saturday morning before you did, got a huge frozen stuffed turkey and popped it in the oven soon as I got home, set the timer for 7 hours, and then ignored it.

People weren’t coming until Sunday and I wanted everything ready in advance so I wouldn’t be left drinking alone in the kitchen, although it would remain an option

So it was around five I guess – I was peeling and chopping and tripping over Daisy and the cat like usual – when I figured I’d better cover the turkey with foil and that’s when I opened the oven door and the turkey was still pinkish and the oven was only warmish and I was surprisedish, but mostly at myself for not having checked earlier, or noticed that the house wasn’t full of that good old roasting turkey smell.

If insanity is to do the same thing over and over expecting different results, then I prove positive because the number of times I hit those little beeping buttons trying to get that oven to work was ridiculous.

Even Daisy – who spends a good third of her waking hours chasing her tail – was rolling her eyes

But then I remembered William Hurt’s words – and although everyone says it would have been perfectly fine as in not killed anyone and that I should have popped it in somebody else’s oven – I disposed of it instead.

Upside is that now I know what it takes to hide a body, an experience which, no doubt, will be coming soon to a short story near you

So I went out Sunday morning before you did, got a smallish fresh turkey without limbs, popped it in the toaster oven around three, and things worked out great, including the crockpot pumpkin spice cake and the crockpot sweet potato not-quite-pie and the stove-top everything else.

It’s pouring out there today

Something nice about morning storms, and this one qualifies, because there’s thunder and lightening and Daisy is quaking on the couch poor thing, like she thinks the world is going to end, and she doesn’t even know the half of it.

She’s just concerned that I’ll get all Mary Poppins on her and take her for a skippy little walk in the rain which she hates because her eyes are basically on top of her head

Maybe the rain will wash the zillions of little fruit flies away. Or whatever they are. They have invaded my house and are swarming the computer screen right now.

They seem to enjoy my nasal cavities – and the space between my eyeballs and my glasses – with equal ardour, the ducky little things. BTW, me and autocorrect just broke up

I have a funny shoe story if you’re up for it and it’s hot off the press as in LIVE as in I told this story to Suri on my way to the GO station just moments ago and here it is verbatim.

I am impulsive as a child. I am wearing new shoes today. They’re sneakers, but the hard leather kind. They came yesterday and of course I had to wear them today because I am six. I gave myself an extra ten minutes to walk to the GO because of the rain mostly but also because of the new shoes and so I am walking unhurried, like the speed normal people walk I guess, except normal people do not practice limping.

I can feel the blister coming, the little fucker. Like a pin prick but I know this stage. It’s right before you go numb and that’s when the shit happens.

So I’m limping even though I don’t have to quite yet

It’s raining hard now and I have to stop every tree and hang on while I hammer my toe on the sidewalk and then I can walk on the ball of my foot until the next tree where I have to hammer all over again.

If I can make it to the station with minimal blood loss, I will stuff toilet paper under my heel and thus raise the blistered part, which is exclusive to my right heel at this second although something a little tingly is moving in on the left.

By day’s end I will probably be perfect at the limp and if it’s not raining, I can use my umbrella as a cane so that’s a bonus.

I’ll look very sad and unfortunate, I’m sure, but maybe muddled up in the sympathy somewhere somebody might say but look at those shoes!

I think I am possessed by the ghost of Rodney Dangerfield

I think I am possessed by the ghost of Rodney Dangerfield

 All this thankfulness is getting out of control. Fuck off already

All this thankfulness is getting out of control. Fuck off already